I walked into my house
This afternoon at Three
And found a letter from my son, Doug
Waiting for me.

Imagine my surprise
Although I did not show it
To find that my youngest son
Had turned into a poet.

I liked to read his poetry
It made me very glad
I wonder if that's a skill he learned
From his dear old dad.

Your attempts at poetry
I do not want to knock
I understand you want a helmet
Jersey, mirrors, and a lock.

When you find out what we gave
You'll probably wish for more
But you'll look back and thank us
When you turn thirty four.

So let us not start quibbling
About monetary amounts
I'm sure you know by now
It is the thought that counts.

And we send thoughts of love

I hope that you can tell

You're a fine young man, Doug

You sure have turned out well.

One thought about your birthday, Doug

And this really is no bull
Half of the glass might be empty
But the other half is full.